


Requiem Foursome D

by damaged_goods



Category: Code Geass, Homestuck, Kill Bill (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Multi, Orgy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damaged_goods/pseuds/damaged_goods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of unbridled misery and corruption, the desperate need of the many beckon a quartet of heroes. In a flamboyant display of chutzpah, four individuals are marshalled to rise above it all and bump uglies.</p><p>May contain Zlatan Ibrahimovic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Land of Hats and Coitus

**Author's Note:**

> Happy bday, here's hopefully to a stroll down (p)leisure lane. Be nice!

> _"ughhashkgfdlusdguflaeisgfaliesfgöapiesfgöpesfgrgapgjycpzihudfmhözkpWAEFGÖOAEGFAÖOREDFÖ"_
> 
> \- Renowned American rapper, Alexander of Macedon

_Crunch._

”Another crusty, carbohydrate-based morsel meets its end at the hands – well, tires really – of an unscrupulous delinquent on a plank.”

_Griiiind._

”Unfathomably indifferent to the carnage he has just wrought, he then decides to continue his urban onslaught by violating a perfectly innocent handrail. The wheels cannot be sated.”

_Sweet landing._

”It's becoming increasingly obvious that it's not the ambulatory meat in the ensemble that's pulling the strings. Oh, it sure would seem that the simian with its actual brain is the twisted sentience behind the rampage. Rather obvious though, don't you think? The tenacious pursuit of punishment suggests compulsive behaviour, and that paired with the age-inappropriate clothes of this manchild clearly demonstrates his disconnected and frankly enticing relationship with reality – a reality in which his every move is actually dictated by a four wheel device thirsty for societal and dietary ruin.”

”Oh my fuck dude shut up,” Dave said.

”Quite right. It couldn't be thirsty considering it's not beverages that are being liberated from a state of frivolously littering the otherwise non-diabetic streets,” Sherlock added with a maniacal smile.

Dave sighed. He needed to calm down. After having initially been borderline ecstatic at the prospect of seducing the pair of cheekbones sitting within petting distance, Dave now simply found himself feeling frustrated. After exchanging names with him, Sherlock had quickly resorted to playing some kind of game. Which if it involved irony, was too nebulous for himself to appreciate, or respond to by flexing his own wit. He paused the game.

”Look, you've made your point. Why don't we... do something else instead?”

Abandoning his last slivers of dignity, Dave leaned in closer to the already half-naked Sherlock. He again considered removing his own tank top, but again decided not to. He still wanted it ripped off his boyish frame. Preferrably leaving some scratch marks.

He was desperate. He hadn't had such a fine piece of ass in a long while, and compounding his pathetic approaches was the fact that they usually just pointed themselves north and prickward. The Stridick was notorious. And as of this moment, just a hair short of escaping the inadequate prison that was his underwear.

_Throb._

Almost half a pixie eyelash. 

As if he could somehow discern Dave's swollen porksword covertly nestling beneath the creases of his slightly baggy cargo shorts, Sherlock's eyes flashed hungrily. Or was that just some sort of batty quirk he had? Dave wondered if his lust had started clouding his senses. Letting it direct his eyes for a bit but trying not to stare, he found himself taking in the grown body now inches away. He could feel its heat. The clear, chiseled lines of Sherlock's chest were hypnotizing in their exquisiteness. Trailing them down along his abs, he gazed a little longer than he had intended at the narrowing lines of the lower abdominals. He could swear they were actively directing his attention to what was, as of yet, still hidden from sight.

He shot a quick glance faceward, checking if Sherlock had noticed anything. The man's eyes were fixed at the door to the far right. Dave almost chuckled. He had found that his shades served far more practical purposes than simply lending his face a ridiculously debonair look. His eyes impatiently continued where they had left off. Where...? Ah, yes. He again wondered why he had found himself waking up in the same room as a dude only wearing briefs and a hat. And, again, he mercilessly swatted the thought. The hat was certified rad. And the thin, glossy cloth snugly safeguarding the sought treasures was just that - flimsy. He allowed himself to stare at Sherlock's long, bare legs, and his mouth to open just a bit at the sight.

Sherlock rose slowly from the couch, creating ripples of muscles moving just beneath his creamy skin. Dave closed his jaw with a snap. He realized his question hadn't been answered. Instead of sighing audibly again, he just mired himself in the frustration and the almost painful erection he was entertaining. As much as it stung to admit, this guy was apparantly out of his league.


	2. The Valley of Rear

Sherlock looked down at the succulent boy sulking in the sofa. It had almost been too easy. He was prepared to go to great lengths satisfying his very particular desires, and it was nearly disappointing how this lamb danced exactly as planned. He resisted the urge to lower his mouth to Dave's ear and whisper things that would make him as red as that top he was wearing. In time, it would have to come off, of course. He permitted his restless tongue to obscenely lick his thin lips. He almost giggled. He was elated at the thought of tearing it off to reveal the lean shape hiding beneath, and giddy from the anticipation of getting to feel Dave's cock plunging deep into himself. It was with superhuman skill that he continued to control his bodily functions as to starve Dave of what he, too, wanted just as badly.

Sherlock's superior experience had taught him patience. This was especially prudent, considering that half the participants were yet to arrive. He again looked at the only door out of the room. He was reminded of the very interesting - and extremely hot - schoolboy he had met earlier. How rare to find a brain comparable to his own, and beneath such a cute face, to boot. He would be joining them soon enough, and with him, a fourth person if he were to be trusted. Something Sherlock had had difficulty doing. There was something in his steely lilac eyes... He shrugged. No use thinking about it now. There would be ample time for... reconciliation later.

 _But..._ He hesitated. There was still time. His eyes slowly turned to Dave. The sitting young man had started adjusting his trousers in what he probably imagined were discreet tugs. For one who knew how and where to look though, it was an excellent showcasing of literally tumescent enthusiasm.

Sherlock made a decision. Or rather, conceded his will to what was going to happen. It was exhilarating. He opened his mouth, and from it came, plainly:

"Undress."

Dave's head jerked up, and so did the lump in his lap. Sherlock knew his visage to still bear a smile. He widened it, adding a splash of mischief.

"W-Whu?" Dave blurted.

"Disrobe. Divest. You know. Get naked. Now."

Dave looked half a famished man mesmerized by the allure of a seasoned sirloin steak, and half a dumbass. He made a visible effort of gathering himself. He rose.

"Yeah. Let me just get my shedding committee and we're golden." He paused, putting a finger on his curled lip. "Oh wait. That's you."

Sherlock had to give it to him; he was a rather interesting fellow. He also had to give it to him. Waiting for a second or two, Sherlock then quickly closed the distance between them. He coiled his arm around Dave, placing one hand on the side of his head, tilting it slightly to the side. He slowly lowered his lips onto Dave's scrumptious neck, and began thoroughly placing sensual marks of wet promise on the ambiguously colored skin. Dave let out a gasp. Sherlock moved his lips to the upper part of the chest, tracing the neckline of the ludicrous garment. Moving away an couple of centimeters, he positioned his mouth directly above what he had surmised was a nipple.

"I aim to please," Sherlocked breathed. He bit, a little hard, on the outside of the apparel. He maneuvered a deft hand through the suddenly open zipper and emancipated the warm length from its papless prison, while slowly closing his teeth around the sensitive patch. Dave inhaled sharply at the sudden sensations. Sherlock's mouth let go of Dave, but tightened its bite on the tank top. With his free hand, he nimbly undid the last bastion of modesty that was the button at the top of the shorts. With a gracefully calculated twist of his head and arm, he tore the top from Dave's body as he let the shorts slide to the floor. By now, his own dick could match Dave's in stiffness. All primed and set to go... except for one thing. He fell to his knees and thrust his mouth over the excitedly jumping cock. He swallowed hard, furiously licking away at the underside. Dave, clearly developing some kind of condition, gasped again. A slight tremor went over his left leg. Leaving as much saliva on the member as possible, Sherlock disengaged his masterful orifice. He removed one of the two pieces of clothing still attached to himself, turned his back to Dave and sprawled himself on the soft, dark fabric of the arm rest on the couch.

"Quickly," he whispered, voice trembling.

He had barely finished his request when he felt something warm, wet and _just right_ slide into his rectum. He closed his eyes. Deeper. _Deeper._ As he felt a pair of legs nestle up close to his ass, an almost painful surge of pleasure shot through his body as the pole reached its destination, making his eyes involuntarily roll backwards.

"Whu," he blurted. He could hear heavy breathing coming from behind.

The divine Stridick - he had done his research - pulled out a bit, and then returned forcefully. They gasped in unison.

Dave started speeding up until their rhythmic grindings was all Sherlock could hear, and periodic ecstasy all he felt. Through blurred eyes, he saw that his hat had fallen down in front of him. It had served its purpose well. Bitches loved the hat.


	3. Holmestuck: Lelouch of the Killbillion

A titillatingly depraved laughter filled the wet air of the somehow indecent security room. In it, Lelouch vi Britannia languished in his own mirthful reverberations, and also a chair.

Before his pornographic repose, arms akimbo on what he made look like nothing short of a throne, a series of monitors oozed scandalous voyeurism. Unabashedly licking the screens with his eyes, he let the filth adorning his retinas further fuel the raucous yet melodious laughter, as well as the raging hard-on currently being sucked with blatant disregard for prospective days by the other person in the room.

Directly beneath the row of windows to uninhibited coitus, instruments for manipulating their respective experimental conditions were positioned - and casually lying across a set of especially sensuative knobs was Beatrix. Her bare buns lay slightly splayed against the wall, so as to allow her head room to give some.

She was still only wearing half of her bright yellow leather outfit. Somewhere between their bouts of continuous copulation, she had found the time, and lapse in Lelouch's perception, to unzip the thing though. Very nifty. Very convenient. Lelouch liked that. In an inexplicably lewd manner. He had himself been stripped completely during the incipient exchanges of saliva and arousal, by no direct action of his own. He got that a lot. Very pragmatic. Very practical. Extremely pleasing for all participating parties present, as well as their pudenda.

Letting his wanton conniptions die out, Lelouch looked to the vengefully undulating crown of golden hair between the pillars of promiscuity that were his legs. He smiled in a way that would, in blitzes of embarrassing fluids, make six year-olds hit puberty. The six year-olds would engage puberty in proper and thorough fisticuffs. Puberty would be like a drum-filled sandbag piñata to those six year-olds.  
He allowed himself to orgasm.

Lashing himself with an outrageously nasty pang of withheld pleasure, Lelouch observed, in calm vulgarity, how Beatrix sucked unborn children out of him like opium drops. He uttered a single, sighing "Oh", and somewhere a nymphomaniac dropped dead from rapture. He briefly contemplated in what disgustingly improper manner he would adress the demand that was soon to be aimed at him, as his river of cum slowly ebbed. With a sex appeal that would offend even the most vividly open-minded of scientists, he rested his head against the slender fingers of his angelically sinful left hand as he came to a decision. At long last, Beatrix let go of his heroin bar and rose.

"My turn again," she puffed forcibly. And predictably.

With her flushed face, heaving chest and intelligent eyes, not to mention her strikingly moist vulva, Beatrix was an avatar of fiercely deliberate eagerness. Still not bothering to remove the jacket, the pleasant curves of her breasts aided the black outlines in directing eyes to the business end of the woman.

When Lelouch did nothing but sit presidingly on his imperially immaculate ass and slowly waft the fingers of his right hand, Beatrix pinned the arm to the arm rest of the throne, made sure the palm was turned upward, and seated herself with a soft squish so that his third and middle finger slid inside her. With semi-closed eyes, she then placed Lelouch's thumb on her impatient hood.

Needing no further cue, Lelouch commenced his work. Channeling his extensive - in all senses of the word - talent, he effortlessly rubbed, pressed, caressed and squeezed forth a gushing tightening around his fingers. From a somewhat curled and squirming Beatrix came a solitary, strong-willed "Ah." Lelouch's arm, suddenly inundated with what was just as suddenly not inside of Beatrix anymore, spared the arm rest, but not the unprotected parts of the throne from a fourth layer of stains. The delicately netted seat started dripping juice onto the already slippery floor. Seemingly ready to fall into a slight stupor, Beatrix moved away. Raising his now free lower arm to his mouth, Lelouch licked some of the sweet elixir off. He imagined something awoke inside him at the taste, because by some fornicative magnetism Beatrix was suddenly seated firmly the same way as before. Lelouch lasciviously grabbed her right hand and closed it around his still rock-hard central pillar. He slowly started her on a second ascent, and she soon responded with a rigorous application of quid pro quo. In the new tangle of limbs, their mouths were centimeters from each other.

"This is all very agreeable," Lelouch proclaimed in a salacious half-whisper. He knew it sounded to all who heard it like warm, luscious honey invading their ears to impregnate their thalami.

"Don't ruin this with words," Beatrix replied in what was a very good stab at the ways of the shameless honey.

"Would it upset you if it's all part of a beautifully meticulous plan?" The honey was particularly unprincipled today.

"Those sound like words."

Beatrix obscenely licked Lelouch's perversely perfect lips, eventually drilling her way into his cave of pleasure-meting. Tasting his own syrupy jizz as she locked mouths and eyes with him, they moaned into each other as they continued for another hour.


End file.
